Deep Thoughts
by AwayForLunch
Summary: Mostly Reid/Tyler one-shots. Prompts welcome.
1. Love Is Not

**Love Is Not**

What does Reid know about love? That he loves me? That I love him?

Reid, who gets all muddled up when faced with a beautiful girl that all he can say is something dumb like "Sarah is my grandmother's name you know." But he will go to the ends of the earth to pursue a girl – fix her car (by Using), spy on her while she bathes (by Using), and check out her underwear (if any) by Using, of course. If not for his Power, Reid would be a love-less loser.

The bonnet of my Hummer is heating up in this sun, and I feel the heat on my back through layers of clothing, but still I stare at the sky and think about Reid.

Is this grey jacket I wear Reid's? Or is it mine? We have both worn it countless times I forget which.

But love is not wearing one another's clothing.

Reid is on a date now. They're probably at Nicky's. He'll probably screw it up, or if he doesn't, then they'll end up bonking. Is that love, then – sex with a pretty girl on the first date?

Love is not kissing me on my lips when you want to borrow my Hummer, Reid. That's not love, but damn me if it doesn't work. 'Cause I melt when you do that, not that you ever notice. Your eyes are on the steering wheel.

Love is not teaching me the finer points of pool. Sure, you make sure my positioning is right, you keep reminding me of my mistakes, my weaknesses. You want me to be really good at pool. And your hands are on mine, and you stand behind me, press against me, guide my hands. My heart beats fast, but you don't hear it beating. You do this, teach me pool, so we can beat Aaron and his chums, and you can get that high when you win. Aaron with poison in his eyes gives you the money you won. To win at gambling, to win at pool, you need a strong partner, a player as skilled as you. And that is who I am. Do you love me because of that?

Love is not the fiery, unashamed look in your eyes as you kiss me again and again, it is not the feel of the sweat on your skin against mine, it is not the sensation of your lips and teeth on my neck, it is not the perfection of your body, nor the perfection of mine. But who thinks about love during sex, really. There's only lust.

But after the exhausting sex I think, and think, and think . . .

Love is not the way Reid daringly mouths "I love you" to the pretty tall girl sitting across the lecture hall. And when she smiles shyly back, that is not love too. Because I sit beside Reid, painfully close to him, and watch all this.

Love is not being unable to decide if Reid looks better in his speedo, his preppy Spenser uniform, or in nothing at all. Love is not admiring Reid's form, nor is it Reid admiring my form, nor is it smirking when Reid playfully shows off his bicep to me.

What does Reid know about love anyway? Sheesh.

Love is . . .

Love is holding a drunken Reid by the waist as he kneels down and throws up into the toilet bowl. And washing the puke and blood off his face with my bare hands. And putting him to bed, like the many times he has put me to bed when I got drunk myself.

Love is the strength which drives me through the swimming pool, legs moving powerfully, propelling me to the finish, and I come in first, and when I get out of the pool triumphantly, I look through the mass of clapping people to the familiar faces of my three proud (and slightly envious) friends, and I look only at Reid's, and my heart says silently _I did it for you_.

Love is lying on Reid's bare chest, feeling his arms encircle me, and waking up to the sound of the alarm clock in the exact position. Love . . . is the unspoken agreement whereby Reid and I sleep in the same bed. My bed on the other side of the dorm room has not been slept in for months and months. Whereas Reid's bed is now creaking at the hinges.

Love is knowing that one day Reid and I will grow up into men and each marry the girl of our hearts, and yet, and yet – having the courage to love Reid now.

Love is not knowing whether to commit suicide or carry on living should Reid die any moment from over-Using.

Love is punching Reid, making his nose bleed profusely, and punching his stomach again and again, because he holds in his hand three pink pills – ecstasy. And I dump the pills into the bin, and I wash my hands, and my mind is dizzy, and Reid later calls me up to say sorry.

Love is doing whatever it takes to make sure Reid gets his homework done – reminding him, punching him, threatening him, kissing him, biting his neck, rubbing against his groin, nuzzling against him, and sometimes just letting him copy my homework.

Love is Reid watching me dance with a pretty girl with a proud look in his eyes.

Love is whenever I find Reid actually studying, and he looks at me ironically and tells me it's about time I hit the books too. And Reid's phone vibrates – Aaron is calling about a game of pool – and Reid cuts it off, because he is engrossed in Newton's Second Law of Motion.

Stupid, beautiful, shallow Reid will never know just how much I love him.

* * *

**Wrote this while I was bored. Hope you liked this one-shot. **


	2. Homework

**Homework**

I sit on Tyler's bed and watch as Ty's right hand scribbles away at his Advanced Mathematics homework. Amazing how Ty gets his homework done so quick – I bet he could rival Caleb's grades this semester. I playfully hug him, but my frail attempts to distract him are ignored.

Right. So Ty wants to play hard-to-get.

First I remove my shirt, my trousers, but I leave my boxers on. Then I try to get Ty's shirt off him. Goody-boy refuses and tries to inch away from me, but his bed is only that wide. He tries to push me off his bed, but I resist.

"Reid, please, I've gotta _finish_ this."

I bite my lip and think for a second. Then my hands find his shoulders and I start massaging them. My thumb kneads away at the knots in Tyler's shoulder muscles. I'm pleased to find it works – Tyler doesn't resist. He even shivers as his muscles relax. But his right hand doesn't stop working away at that Advanced Mathematics homework.

Then when I gently take off Ty's shirt he complies – he even lifts up his arms for me to do so. My mind gives a silent triumphant cheer. My hands now have free rein of Ty's bare torso – I knead his back muscles, apply pressure to his sides, and give Tyler one heck of a back rub. The things I do to turn Baby Boy on.

But no, Tyler Simms the Righteous does not stop working away at his homework. I start biting his neck, and my hands find the _front_ of his torso, and I caress his chest, and –

Tyler stops me, gripping my protesting hands.

"Back rub, Reid," he warns. "Not _this_."

"Come on, Ty. I've been watching you do your fucking Advanced Mathematics for _hours_."

"It's not easy, Reid. Maybe if you were to help me out instead of fuck around – "

"Yeah, yeah. Fine."

I dress myself and walk out – maybe I'll get a beer or something. Or maybe I'll just walk about, get some fresh air. And when I get back perhaps Tyler will have finished that goddamned homework and I can have my fun.

* * *

I decide against getting a beer. I drive around aimlessly before I get back to my dorm.

I open the door to find Caleb. On Ty's bed. I blink.

Caleb is half-naked, and his hands are all over Ty's chest. And, goddammit, Ty has stopped doing his Advanced Mathematics, and the two are . . . making out.

Then they notice me, standing dumbly in the doorway.

Before anyone can say anything I close the door and rush off, far, far away from the dorms. I am fucking _confused_.

* * *

A couple of hours later I am sitting in a corner of Nicky's, and I am brooding. Yeah. That's the word. Brooding. With a bottle of cold beer in my hands. Brooding over what happened, what I saw. I'm getting my mind all cloudy and screwed up. What did I see?

I think, trying to remember Caleb's hands running over Tyler's chest like Tyler was _his_, trying to remember the soft sounds of their breathing as I stood at the doorway like a dumb fool.

My cell phone rings and – no surprise – it is Tyler. He sounds faint, as if he was worried or tired. Or guilty. He tries to explain.

"I called Caleb over to help me with my Math, Reid. And . . . and . . . " Tyler trails off.

I don't reply. I don't care anyway. And I hang up on Tyler, Caleb's Baby Boy.


	3. Drowning Sorrows

**Drowning Sorrows **

I drink bottle after bottle of beer every night, and when the world starts spinning, and my head is woozy, my guilt is forgotten. Why in the world, you might ask me, did I kill my best friend?

How would I answer that?

What do I tell you, then? That you, dear reader, must understand why – or rather how – I murdered Reid. And then my secret becomes yours too.

* * *

The problem of where to start is not easily overcome – how shall I know the exact point from which everything started, my first feeble step onto the train bound for murder? You would not understand – and it would take too long.

I shall start, then, with the handgun. I stole it from my father's desk, knowing he would not miss anything, for the handgun was only for emergencies. It was a semi-automatic pistol, heavy for its size, black and shiny, and it was loaded. The kind of gun you see in movies. The kind of gun used for amateur murder. A gun for cowards, and I was a coward.

I put the handgun in the glove compartment of my Hummer, and I started driving.

I have read before that criminals rationalise their crimes: that even the most hardcore serial killer would think that he is doing something right, that he has a perfect reason to kill and kill, that he is justified. And that he will be utterly and almost genuinely confused at the death sentence over his head.

Did I think that too? I do not know.

* * *

No one knew that I had been raped, except Aaron, the perpetrator, and me, the poor victim. And whenever I saw Aaron, or saw the detested glint in the look he would give me, I hated him more, and I remembered the rape. I had tried cutting myself in secret, and boozing, but all in all it was ineffective. Shame hung over me, blotted out other emotions, and I knew Aaron would have to go, before I crumbled to pieces.

If my hands on the steering wheel should have been sweaty and shaking – they were not. I was calm, and I pulled up short at Nicky's. My prey would be in there.

I decided that the murder would take place in the night-darkened, dense Ipswich woods. Perfect isolation, and no one would know. No one would trace it back to me. But murder is not easy, put into practice, especially for an amateur like myself. I planned to drive Aaron deep into the woods and do it, but I had to convince him first.

* * *

The bastard Aaron (and you must excuse my language) was hovering at a corner with his buddies. Reid, Caleb and Pogue were at the foosball table, and at the sight of my friends I ducked into the crowd, hoping for camouflage. My friends could not know the murder in my head. Then I approached Aaron, who gave me that triumphant smirk of his, and I told him that I needed him to accompany me to Gloucester Hospital, to sort out some issue in our medical records. A stupid, feeble lie, but I kept a straight face.

Aaron agreed, surprisingly quickly. Almost too quickly. I wondered if he had bought my lie, but his face was wooden.

Then we were in my Hummer, and I was driving.

Images, flashbacks, flooded my sight, and I drove half-blindly. I was reliving the night again, that stupid, stupid night when Aaron was drunk, and I was in his complete power. I can tell you the pain, but you would not feel it. I can tell you the threats, the humiliation, and how it ripped my emotions to shreds, but you would not understand. Not enough. So I shall tell you only that I wanted nothing more than to put a bullet into Aaron.

Signboards flashed past, and Aaron did not notice that we had long since past the turning to Gloucester Hospital. We were headed for the woods. My mind was screaming with joy, and my heart pounded excitedly – I could not wait for the moment I could pull the trigger. My Hummer was on uneven ground now – we were in the heart of the woods, driving past endless colossal trees. Aaron shot angry questions at me, but I pressed harder on the accelerator. Aaron dealt me a punch to the side of my face and my foot jammed on the brakes, jerking both of us forwards. Now that we had stopped, I noticed his tightening grip round my neck, and I was slowly suffocating. Aaron demanded answers, but I didn't answer.

Then Aaron began beat me up in the narrow confines of the car. I defended myself as best as I could, crouching against the seat and wielding my hands like shields. But he kicked me in the ribs and punched my head and I found myself on my knees in the grass, nose bleeding, jeans pulled down, and Aaron was going to rape me a second time.

* * *

The rumble of a vehicle made both of us freeze. Bright headlights, then Reid showed up on Pogue's motorcycle.

"I knew you were up to something Aaron. I followed you all the way from Nicky's," Reid said vehemently.

I pulled my jeans up and tried to wipe the blood away from my nose. Then I sat dumbly on the grass as Reid punched Aaron unconscious. Then I went back to the Hummer, to the glove compartment, and brought out the handgun – the final flourish.

Reid was taken aghast. I tried to reassure him but he would not listen. He even tried to wrest the handgun from me, and I had to fight to keep it away from him. I needed to make Reid understand that I had to kill Aaron. And my prey was lying unconscious in the grass – waiting for my bullet, waiting for me.

So I pointed the gun at Reid and told him to step away. We stood like that for a long time. And I kept the gun levelled at Reid, and cocked it, ready to fire. My head felt dizzy.

Then Reid started walking slowly towards me, and then the explosive, ear-piercing sound of the gunshot rang through the woods.

I tell you solemnly that I did not pull the trigger, that the gunshot was not mine. And you, my reader, are free to believe what you will. But you can be sure that a bullet pierced through Reid's head, and amidst the blood and gore, my best friend slumped over onto the ground. If you were me, you would have done what I did then – I staggered over to the Hummer, and drove away, with the handgun safely put back into the glove compartment.

* * *

Sometimes these days I ask myself – did I really intend to kill Reid, even if the fatal gunshot was not my own? Would I have pulled the trigger, to perhaps get Reid out of my way, and was I truly that desperate to murder Aaron? The answers are behind a closed door in my mind, and I do not even know what to tell you.

My days have altered – after the bright confusion of the press, the news of murder deep in the Ipswich woods, after the police investigations, the interviews, the FBI, the condolences, the tears, and the funeral – after everything had draggled past, my life is different. And not just solely because Reid is gone; a breath on the wind.

I live in fear now, alongside Caleb and Pogue. Caleb says that we must stick together constantly, and none of us dare to mention out loud what might happen if we don't. A bullet through each of our heads, for instance. Caleb is no longer sure if Chase Collins had been truly and completely annihilated back at Putnam barn. I cannot tell you where we live now, but I can say that Gorman is with us. Caleb thinks – believes, even – that Gorman can protect us, guide us.

Someone, something, deep in the woods that night, must have shot Reid through the head.

My remaining friends do not know about my rape, and why I brought Aaron into the woods that night. I covered it with a sheet of lies, fabrications, and only you, my dear dear reader, know the truth I have told you.

* * *

The guilt of Reid's death sleeps beside me in the night, and whispers itself to me throughout the day. But I want you to know this – that I have always loved Reid, and that he loved me, until the very end.


	4. Over a Beer or Two in Nicky's Pub

**Over a Beer or Two in Nicky's Pub**

I'm Reid.

The other day Tyler – my closest buddy – brought his spanking-hot Hummer out to the gas station, so I was left alone in the dorms.

Okay, so maybe not completely _alone. _I mean, there were two girls – with sexy bods – their names were Selene and Megan. Or Freda. I can't remember, anyway. So I was asking these two girls out, you see – we were, like, standing outside my room door.

Did I bring them in and bang them? I wish. But no, we just stood there talking. I wanted to take them to see this new movie. A date, yeah.

But back to the story.

After the two girls had gone – I think one of them was called Alyssa – I went to the staircase. You know the Spenser dorm has this huge column of flights and flights of stairways? Yeah. I went there and walked up and up, just for the heck of it.

At the end there was this door and I opened it and I was out on the roof.

I remember thinking how cold it was on the roof. I'm fucking serious, the roof is flat as heck and the wind seriously _blows_ up there. I thought of going back down to change into Tyler's hoodie – Tyler's hoodie is somewhat thicker and warmer than mine. But I didn't.

So I turned round and there was Tyler. On the roof too. I wanted to say "Fuck, Ty, what are you doing on the roof?" or maybe "Ty, I got us two dates" but I kept my mouth shut.

Because I wasn't sure, if you know what I mean.

Tyler was at the gas station, you know. I thought.

Yeah, so Tyler started talking like heck. Or something. I mean, he was talking and talking but I wasn't listening and all the time he was coming closer and closer to me. I stood my ground.

And all this time the terrible feeling in my gut which I felt ever since Tyler left began to grow more intense. Like, really intense. I wanted to throw up, but not really.

I was at the very edge of the roof, I swear I would fall off any moment. The pavement far down below was solid concrete. So Tyler right, he started kissing me and I realised that was how close he had got to me all this while. I let my mouth relax – my guts felt fucking bad.

Then Tyler's hands went round me and I _swear_ he was goddammed _strong_. Next thing I was falling off the roof.

I thought, hey, use your stinking Power and turn yourself into a snowflake or something. But I didn't. There was no time, I was falling so damned fast, I couldn't breathe.

I must have used my Power somehow, because I ended up levitating – cool, right? – off the fucking ground. By one or two feet. I let my control go and I landed, quite winded, on my back.

My face was upward so I could see the figure on the roof. I swear it looked – trick of the light, or something – like that Chase Collins guy whom Caleb thrashed a while back. Then I couldn't see the figure anymore.

I was totally pissed. I mean, I fell right down from the roof, dammit.

I guess that gut-feeling I had was my Power. Telling me something, leading me up to the roof and all that. But hey, that's just speculation.

So Tyler – that's right, Tyler again – came rolling up to the dorm in his slick Hummer while I stood there like some unemployed hooker. And he smiled at me and I fucking knew that he wasn't the guy on the roof. This Tyler was the real Tyler, the gas-station Tyler.

But I didn't tell him what happened. I didn't want him to worry his pretty head off.

I'm never ever going up on that motherfucking roof again.

Interesting, eh?


	5. First Time

**First Time**

Reid trudged up the stairs of the Spenser dorm and walked along the empty hallway to the room he shared with Tyler. The door was locked, but he had the key.

Upon opening it he found Tyler crouched up in a chair by the window. Tyler was turned to the view, and his hands gripped his treasured iPod, earphones firmly jammed in his ears. He did not turn round to look at Reid. The soft afternoon light shone off Tyler's black hair.

"Where were you?" A hesitant, delicate question, voiced softly by Tyler. Reid's conscience jeered at him, but he did not relent.

"I was at the gym, Ty," Reid answered as casually as he could.

One of Tyler's hands relinquished its grip of the iPod and moved to the pocket of his trousers. Tyler brought out a tube of lube – Reid cringed in guilty recognition.

Then Tyler turned his head away from the window, and looked Reid in the eye. "Found this in your drawer when I was looking for the keys to my Hummer." Tyler ran his tongue over his lips. "You've been using this a lot, haven't you."

Reid sensed Tyler's sullenness and decided not to respond.

"With Caleb. You've been sleeping around with Caleb and you don't have the nerve to even _tell_ me." Tyler's eyes were heavy and pink-rimmed. His nose was flushed. He had been crying.

Tyler yanked the earphones out of his ears. "Just because I don't want anal sex doesn't mean you can just take off like that and carry it on with Caleb – "

"Tyler, I – "

"Shut the _fuck_ up. So this is the reason why you've stopped sleeping with me nowadays, huh? Because Caleb does anal and I'm not ready to." Tyler threw the tube across the room to Reid, who caught it in his hand. The lube was a guilty symbol of his lusty trysts with Caleb.

"You need to get a new tube anyway. You're almost out," Tyler muttered dispiritedly.

Reid gathered his thoughts, planning to soothe Tyler's anger, but Tyler had re-jammed the earphones in his ears and played up the volume knob on the iPod. Tyler stared out of the window, nursing his grudge.

* * *

Night. The room was dark and Tyler was buried in his bedsheets, fighting sleeplessness.

Movement on Reid's half of the dorm room. Reid was getting out of bed. They had not spoken to one another all that day.

Then footsteps came close to Tyler's bed, and before Tyler knew it Reid had got under the covers and wrapped his body round the younger boy. Tyler radiated resentment, but did not move. Reid's wet lips pressed against Tyler's ears. "Got this today," he uttered softly, slipping a tube into Tyler's hands. A brand-new tube of lube. "The cashier gave me a funny look."

And Tyler smiled in the dark despite himself. Reid's body warmth was calming. And familiar.

Reid's lips never left Tyler's ear. "This is our lube now. I broke it off with Caleb today."

Momentary silence punctuated only by the breathing of the two boys.

Then Tyler muttered, "Okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Why not."

"I'll teach you _everything _I know about anal. It'll be fun, I promise," Reid proposed in whispers, letting excitement break into his voice a little.

"I wanna have a go, too."

And Reid gave a short laugh. "Well uh, I'm the dominant partner here, so I get to dig into you. Not the other way around, Baby Boy," he teased.

But Tyler begged so coyly that Reid decided to stop teasing. Tyler was beginning to smell wholly irresistible. Faint whiff of sweat mixed with weak aftershave. Reid could not wait to break Tyler in, and use as much of that lube as possible.

It would be a long, long night.

Sweat, passion, skin, pressure, lube, teeth, deep thrusts.

And it would be Tyler's first time.


	6. Cold Night

**Cold Night**

Reid's occasional frustrated grunts as he laboured over his Advanced Calculus textbook, combined with the scratching of Reid's ballpoint on paper, and the dripping of the tap, the subtle humming of the heating vent – all these trespassed on Tyler's peace of mind and ability to sleep. He rolled over and pulled the heavy quilt over his head, wriggling his chilled toes, yet warmth eluded him. His sweater was not helping.

Tyler threw off the quilt, bracing himself for the rush of cold air, and, cursing the heating vent, made for the closet in search of a pair of the warmest, thickest socks he had. Winter had its perks; circulation-stopping cold was not one of them. Tyler's hands found a girlishly colourful pair (orange, green and pink stripes). Each toe had its own compartment, guaranteeing flexibility for toe-wriggling. For a doubtful moment Tyler tried to recall when exactly he had bought those socks, but the heating vent gave a remindful metallic splutter, and Tyler relented and put them on. With reasonably warm feet Tyler adjourned to his bed to resume battle with wakefulness, but the realisation that all sounds from Reid's corner of the dorm had ceased fell upon him.

"Not warm enough for you, Tyler?"

Tyler detected a playful note in Reid's voice, and resentment rose in him. He was most certainly not going to be Reid's welcome distraction from Calculus. He trudged purposefully to his bed and got in, rolling over to face the blank wall, and pulling the quilt over himself. Yet Reid's voice persisted.

"You know what I read on the Internet, Ty? Guys who turn the thermostat up have a better chance of seeing their girlfriends naked. And of course sex proceeds. Very, very interesting, I thought."

Tyler imagined walking up to stoic Caleb the next morning, eyes red-rimmed and watery, gait unsteady, and throw his prettiest smile at the elder boy and complain about how the annoying Reid kept him from sleeping all through the previous night. And he would lean gratefully into Caleb's shoulder, moist lips making purposeful contact with the neck, and, while holding the elder boy's forearms, mutter about how dreadful he felt from lack of sleep. And Caleb would gently disengage himself from Tyler, and stride up to an unsuspecting Reid, and deal a heavy punch to the blonde's stomach. Reid would double up, and his grimacing face would meet with Caleb's stony knee. Punch, whack, punch, wham, thud, thud, thud, thud. And when Reid was truly repentant, gripping a leaking nose, dark splatters of blood colouring his face and clothes, contorted upon the marble floor, then Caleb the hero would relinquish and return to fragile, grateful, red-eyed Tyler.

But back in the tangible present, Reid's swivel chair was hitting the edge of the table with repeated knocks, and the hateful Reid was choking the air with his voice.

"And I'm sure you know what kind of rush an orgasm gives you, I've read it makes you instantly groggy, and you really want sleep right now, don't you?"

Tyler's sweater felt scratchy against his skin, which made him despair as the throes of sleep had just begun to steal upon him. After some thought he realised it was because his skin was sweaty. Perhaps the quilt was a tad too thick, perhaps the socks were too much, perhaps he ought to discard the leggy wool trousers and sleep in boxers. Perhaps –

"Reid," Tyler growled with a hint of threat in his voice.

A glance at the pitch-black dilation in Reid's eyes confirmed Tyler's accusation. Reid was heating up the dorm, literally. Tyler sought the heating vent to check if Reid was just manipulating the internal thermostat, but he realised, as the air grew uncomfortably warmer, that the vent was not tampered with, that Reid's Power was solely responsible for the ridiculous heat.

"Take off your sweater."

And with unconscious obedience Tyler wriggled out of the scratchy sweater, not without difficulty, for his skin was sticky with sweat.

"Your shirt, your trousers, those funny socks . . . "

One by one they came off Tyler's sweaty body, and Tyler stood sweating lightly on the carpet, shiny-skinned, naked but for his boxers, free, yet still trapped in the heat which mimicked tropic climates.

"Your boxers too."

This last hopeful command of Reid's was answered with a blue-eyed glare, the irritation of being denied sleep showing on Tyler's expression. Yet Reid moved towards Tyler, taking off his clothes as well, and in proximity Tyler could see the faint shine of sweat on Reid skin.

Tyler closed his eyes and felt Reid's lips bite gently on his own, letting anticipation and carnal desire wash over him. Reid's teeth on his neck, Reid's hands running over Tyler's skin, smearing the beads of sweat, and Tyler began to doze off in Reid's arms.

Reid helped a half-asleep Tyler into bed, and drew the quilt over both of them, kissing Tyler's damp skin slowly, not wanting Tyler to fall into slumber yet letting him. The dorm grew colder as the heat dissipated, Reid no longer working at it, but Tyler did not worry as Reid's warm, breathing body was moulded to him, and thus he could finally sleep.

A familiar beep sounded from the bedside table, and Tyler reached out into the cold air to retrieve his phone, and read the text message he had received silently: _Nite, baby boy. I want u so much._

Caleb.


	7. Stuck on a Roller Coaster

A/N: My songfic. 'Hot N Cold' by Katy Perry :)

"**Stuck on a Roller Coaster"**

Amusement park. Warm summer afternoon. The juggling clowns-on-stilts, the rainbow-coloured stall umbrellas, the towering Ferris wheel revolving slowly, the chairswing spinning like an unbalanced top, the assorted people jostling round the game booths and queueing up for rides. And Tyler, who found himself dragged without mercy from stall to stall by an exhilarated Reid. Tyler held a blue stuffed elephant, and self-consciousness was slowly stealing over him. Reid had been _brilliant_ at throwing hoops, and a few bystanders had clapped as the stall manager begrudgingly handed over the prize elephant to him. "Here you go," Reid said, thrusting the prize into Tyler's surprised arms. Tyler, who had been silently envious, could never throw hoops as well as his friend. The blue stuffed elephant was weighty and Tyler's arms hurt after much carrying.

"I really want to go on that roller coaster, Ty," Reid said in between mouthfuls of hotdog. The bristling blonde boy had to feed Tyler bites intermittently, since Tyler's hands were occupied by the stuffed elephant. But mostly Reid chomped up the hotdogs himself, and forgot to feed an annoyed and sweaty Tyler.

"I don't want to," said Tyler, breathlessly.

"We've got to get in the queue quickly, it'll be a long wait," said Reid.

"I _said_, I don't – "

"Come on slowpoke, hurry up!" And with that Reid vanished in the direction of the huge roller coaster.

And where was the music coming from? Tyler could hear strains of a pop song he recognised, beating from a hidden source.

'_Cause you're hot then you're cold_

_You're yes then you're no_

_You're in and you're out_

_You're up and you're down_

Tyler's stomach tightened nervously. He set off after Reid, burdened by the stuffed elephant, wishing Reid would just forget the roller coaster and choose a much safer ride, like the merry-go-round, or the spinning teacup ride, or maybe eschew the rides altogether and remain on the ground, where everything was very safe indeed. Then Reid's face materialised in front of him, face burning with anticipation, blue eyes beaming. Reid's chest heaved up and down from exertion, and after a pause he said, "Come on, follow me."

"But I don't _want_ to."

Tyler's mouth, agape in complaint, found itself stuffed with hotdog. Forced to chew, Tyler could only glare at Reid. Then they were both in the purple carriage, strapped to the hard seat with the safety bar lowered, and Tyler was trapped and the blue stuffed elephant lay forgotten by the tracks and the music taunted him in the background:

_Someone call the doctor_

_Got a case of a love bipolar_

_Stuck on a roller coaster_

_Can't get off this ride_

"Reid, I'm scared," Tyler muttered under his breath, blushing furiously despite his nervousness. "I don't want to do this at all."

But Reid was busy trying out his camera-phone, intending to snap as many shots as he could during the ride without dropping it.

With an initial jerk, the carriages began moving, gaining speed and momentum, powering forward, up and up and up, higher than the milling crowd, higher than the stall umbrellas, higher than the treetops, into the sunlight, and then – liberation. The carriages plunged downwards.

Tyler's eyes were screwed shut, and his sweaty palms made it hard to grip the safety bar, excited screams all round him, Reid's delighted whoops, he wanted to stop, wanted the ride to stop stop stop stop –

'_Cause you're hot then you're cold_

_You're yes then you're no_

_You're in and you're out_

_You're up and you're down_

Tyler felt the ground beneath his feet.

Bodies jostled against him in passing.

He opened his eyes. Stalls surrounded him.

The blue stuffed elephant stared gloomily back at him.

"What do you want, Mr Elephant," Tyler said.

The elephant said, _I want only one thing._

Tyler's brow furrowed in interest. "And what would that be?"

_To save your friend's phone._

"You mean his camera-phone?" Tyler couldn't help chuckling. "And why exactly would it need saving?"

_It will fall. I shall save it._

Tyler blinked at Mr Elephant. Mr Elephant waved his blue trunk up in the air.

Tyler blinked again.

Mr Elephant now held Reid's camera-phone in his trunk.

"Where did that come from?" Tyler exclaimed.

_The sky. Your friend dropped it. I have saved it._

Mr Elephant sounded pleased.

Tyler understood. "Thank you. He would be crushed if he lost his phone. Thank you."

_He saved me from my shelf, from my stall which never changed. I save his phone, it is only fitting._

Tyler smiled warmly at Mr Elephant. "Thanks, you're great."

_Now get back on that abominable roller coaster. Finish the ride. _

Tyler sighed and said, "Okay."

_Goodbye._

"Bye."

'_Cause you're hot then you're cold_

_You're yes then you're no_

_You're in and you're out_

_You're up and you're down_

Tyler opened his eyes. Reid was beside him. They had stopped. The bar was lifted, and Tyler became aware of Reid's frustration.

"MY FUCKING PHONE!" People swivelled their heads at Reid's shout. "I shouldn't have taken those fucking pictures, it slipped, I don't know how, fuck fuck fuck – "

Tyler dragged a cursing Reid to a spot near the tracks, and looked round for the blue stuffed elephant. It had to be, it had to be. And when they happened upon it, Reid's phone lay on top of the stuffed blue mass. Unbroken, intact. Tyler smiled amusedly at Reid's wonderment and stupor. Mr Elephant was right. Tyler put his arms round Reid's waist and coaxed his friend into a hug, attempting to lock lips. Reid conceded, subdued by the recovery of his phone.

"I'll buy you a hotdog, because you're the coolest guy I've ever known," Reid said to Tyler, when they pulled apart to breathe. Tyler just grinned and gathered the blue stuffed elephant into his arms.


	8. Detective Garwin

**Detective Garwin **

_**Hotel Maryland**_

The young woman's brown locks were still damp from the shower, and she ran her long fingers through them, arranging them as fetchingly as she could over her pretty face. The mirror showed her two round glassy eyes, lashes long and thick, a petite nose, and lips full and curvy. She tried an experimental pout, and settled for an empty smile. She undid the strings of her white bathrobe and stood examining her bare, pearly body with a critical eye. Breasts starting to sag, the disapproving flash in her eyes seemed to say. Hips too narrow. Leaner thighs would not be out of the question. Her eyes acknowledged her long legs with familiar pride; it was obviously a feature upon which she had been complimented on many occasions.

She jumped and screamed as a curiously human-sized polymer bag burst from the ceiling boards above her and crashed down to rest in a clutter of debris. There were fresh bloodstains on the bag, but all details were lost upon the woman as she made for the window of the hotel room, and leapt out, falling nineteen stories down, hitting the pavement with a wet thud and alarming motorists and passersby alike.

Children came by to look, and were taken away by adults. Somebody took a picture. The coroners came to remove the body. Street cleaners cleared the bloody mess. A little girl said that she saw a small piece of paper in the dead person's hand, but was told to shut up by her mum. A policeman took some notes half-heartedly, but the cause of death was glaringly obvious – suicide.

_**Mr Reid Garwin, Private Detective**_

Mr Garwin. Notorious for chain-smoking, antisocial habits, and blond hair. Also regarded fearfully by Boston vandals and assorted offenders of the law for his uncanny ability to solve the most heinous crime in ten working days at most. He had once saved a cat stuck in a tree.

Today he sat in his dusty office and filled the air with the puffs of cigarette smoke, waiting for a new case to solve, or else waiting for lunchtime. A brunette walked in – and Mr Garwin sat up straighter.

Ordinarily his idea of a brunette would have been: long dark hair, red lips, full breasts, wide hips, long legs in black pantyhose. This young brunette was different. Mr Garwin examined the brunette's messy hair, strong chin, adequately muscular torso, and grunted approvingly.

"Whaddya want, kid?"

The brunette sat down and looked at Mr Garwin with glassy dog eyes brimming with tears. "It's my mother," he said, passing a photo of a beautiful woman to the detective. "She committed suicide yesterday."

"Well then. Case solved. She killed herself."

The brunette glared. "No. At least, the policeman told me she had jumped out of the twentieth-storey hotel window, but I don't think she would do something as meaningless as that." He stopped to wipe away his tears, and continued in a stronger voice. "And the policeman gave me this. It was in her hand as she fell."

The brunette gave Mr Garwin a piece of paper stained with blood, and on it was written: _Room 205. Help._

Mr Garwin drew in a long puff from his cigarette. "This is getting interesting. What was the hotel's name again?"

"Hotel Maryland."

"Right," Mr Garwin said as he rose from his desk and put on a grey trenchcoat. "I'm gonna find some answers, kid."

"I'll go with you."

"Sorry, kid, but I solve crimes on my own."

_**Hotel Maryland**_

Mr Garwin strode up to the young girl at the receptionist's desk. "May I see the manager of this hotel please," he said.

"Mr Richardson? But he's not in at the moment."

"Well then, I would like to stay here for one night, and I would appreciate if you give me room, uh," he glanced at a piece of paper, "two-zero-five, please."

"Oh, but we can't. That room is currently undergoing major cleaning-up by our cleaning staff, as part of the ceiling just caved in yesterday. But we have other rooms..."

Mr Garwin glared. "No," he said, and left for the elevators.

He took the elevator to the twentieth story, lit a cigarette, and walked along the corridors until he came to a wooden door marked _205_. At the end of the corridor he spotted a plump chambermaid pushing along her cleaning cart. He drew on his cigarette and tried the doorknob. Unlocked. Good. He went in.

The room was clean and ordinary, save for a gaping hole in the ceiling. Apparently the chambermaid had done a good job clearing the debris. He frowned in thought. Then, dragging a tall chair over and using it as a ladder of sorts, he brought himself up towards the ceiling hole and looked into its dim depths. Dirt, dust, vents, and bloodstains. Mr Garwin smelt the familiar scent of crime and chuckled.

Blood in the ceiling? The blood of the woman who had thrown herself out of the window? Very unlikely. Then whose blood was it? Next Mr Garwin checked the drawers, scoured the toilet for any suspicious traces, turned on the TV to flip channels, removed the lampshade, checked the carpeting and wallpapering. But he found nothing more. Bloody chambermaid cleaned everything up, he thought.

He left Room 205 to find a stocky, well-dressed man standing in front of him. "You must be the hotel manager," Mr Garwin said.

"I am," said Mr Richardson.

_**The Rubbish Chute**_

The entire hotel's rubbish was channelled into this chute, the chatty receptionist said. Mr Garwin knew he would find some answers to his questions here. And he did, rummaging through the mess. Two polymer body bags, each housing a decomposing body. Both bodies were female. The stink was incredible, and stayed in Mr Garwin's nostrils long after, no matter how many times he inhaled his cigarette smoke.

_**Mr Richardson, Manager, Hotel Maryland**_

Upon letting himself in by picking the lock, Mr Garwin saw that Mr Richardson's office was messy, quite like his own, in fact, but more posh. A leather swivel chair was heaped with briefcases, and the coffee-stained table was strewn with papers. Then Mr Garwin found a chambermaid uniform in an unlocked briefcase and smiled. He had solved the mystery.

_**Main Lobby, Hotel Maryland**_

Mr Garwin strode up to Mr Richardson and swiftly bound the hotel manager's wrists together with handcuffs. He ignored Mr Richardson's cry of amazement and protest, and proceeded to stub out his cigarette on the manager's cheek.

"That hurt, you bastard!" the handcuffed man cried.

"I pronounce you guilty of murder," said Mr Garwin, lighting a fresh cigarette with deft hands.

"That idiot of a woman jumped out of the window herself! How can I be held guilty for _that_?"

Mr Garwin calmly puffed smoke in the shocked manager's reddened face. "_You _are guilty of imprisoning women in Room 205, then having your evil old way with them before killing them. _You_ are guilty of removing the loose ceiling boards to stash your body bags in the hollow of the ceiling so you could later dispose of them in the hotel's rubbish chute. And _you_ are guilty of cross-dressing!" At that Mr Garwin produced the chambermaid uniform he found in the manager's office with a flourish. The receptionist and other hotel staff clapped excitedly.

Mr Richardson's face reddened to a shade deeper than before. "I only wore that to disguise myself so I could carry the body bags one at a time in the cleaning cart."

"Yes! But I saw through your disguise, indeed. And the noble woman yesterday knew what twisted exploits you had intended to commit with her unwilling body, and courageously decided that suicide was better than death at your sick hands. And now I shall stop you once and for all, for the sake of my client." Mr Garwin puffed on his cigarette proudly and smoothed out his rumpled trenchcoat, to the cheers of the hotel staff.

_**Mr Reid Garwin, Private Detective**_

Mr Garwin settled back in his comfy old leatherback chair, and crossed his feet on the tabletop, puffing on a cigarette. The brunette sat across from the detective, with gratitude brimming in his clear round eyes.

"So my mother did indeed kill herself?" the brunette said tentatively.

"Yeah, kid, she did. But mark you, if she hadn't that old lecher of a hotel manager would have finished her off in his own way."

The brunette's lashes drooped. "I understand," he said. Then he looked imploringly up into Mr Garwin's eyes. "How will I ever thank you?"

Mr Garwin didn't answer for a moment or two. Looking at the brunette's clear eyes, handsome yet sad face, and tight-fitting shirt, the detective could only draw eagerly on his cigarette and remain motionless.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Tyler."

Mr Garwin brought his legs off the tabletop and patted his thighs. "Come here, kid."

The detective stubbed out his cigarette and tasted the brunette's warm lips.


End file.
